Straight Arrow

I got my most recent check Thursday, again with two billing statements on it, enough that I'm now on the money-laundering watch list. I went to the bank today to deposit it, and it seems that Friday is the day to go to the bank and withdraw huge sums of money.
   I saw a lady with a blue bank bag get stack after stack of cash bound with that paper wrapper, the kind you see in movies about Vegas or crack houses. Or crack houses in Vegas. When I saw that I thought 'huh... she's certainly a trusting sort, to be taking that amount of money over the counter.'
   Then I saw the next guy in line getting three thousand dollars. I know this because I watched the cashier count out $100 bills in groups of five and then paper-clip them together in groups of ten. Three paper clips means three thousand dollars, I'm no dummy. And I thought 'what an odd coincidence, two high-rollers in a row.'
   I heard the next lady request $900. And the guy after her - just before me - got $1500. And here I was worried that I would be a Miracle Mile target because I was taking away $140. Compared to those other people I was strictly small-time, not worth the shoe polish it would take to kick my ass.
   And then I thought 'it's a good thing I'm not a crook, because I'd so seriously rob those people.' Really. If my switch was set to 'evil' I'd be at least $3000 richer right now, because I could totally take that guy. Or the five-foot tall woman with stack after stack of cash, I outweigh her by double, at least, I could just bump into her and grab the money as she rebounds.
   I have these thoughts sometimes. Most of the time. Like when that guy with a name like a sneeze tried to bomb Times Square, I spent a good ten minutes thinking about how he could have done it right. Every so often I'll be in a store and I'll think about the best escape route if I were to stick them up. Sometimes I even think about how I might commit massive institutional fraud and actually get rewarded for my irresponsible, incompetent business conduct, and then I realize that I worked for a company like that and they did it better then I ever could. So I go back to thinking about what I would do if I wanted to completely paralyze Los Angeles traffic. Worse than it already is, I mean. I never would do any of that stuff, but that doesn't keep me from idly considering how I might wreak all sorts of havok with impunity.
   It's just lucky for society that I had good parents and I'm an Eagle Scout. Otherwise all ya'll motherf*ckers would be in serious trouble.
   Just sayin'...

Vega$ Opportunity

So I was stuck in traffic today - crap, crap, crapitty, crap, crap - and I was thinking that it would be really cool not to have to drive to get where I wanted to go. Driving's for chumps. And then I got to thinking about how somebody like Frank Sinatra used to take a helicopter between LA and Vegas back in the good old days. And then I got to thinking that I could really use a helicopter of my own, except that I don't have anywhere to park it around my apartment.
   Then I got to thinking, why should I want to be like Frank Sinatra, when I could be him? Figuratively speaking, of course. Sure would beat what I've been doing for the past decade.
   See, back in the day Frank was Vegas and Vegas was Frank. Sure, he was mobbed-up, but even if they were killers, the Mafia kept Vegas running like a top. Now it's all corporate and weaselly and about the bottom line. What Vegas needs is another Frank to come through and clean house. Since Frank is gone, God rest his soul, I'm willing to take up the mantle.
   I look good in a tuxedo - really - and I like to hang out with my cronies and have a good time. I can't sing, not a note, but I'm not gonna let that hold me back. I'm gonna take Vegas by storm, you'll see posters of me where you used to see posters of Danny Gans.
   And I pledge to you, the first thing I'm gonna do as the new Chairman of the Board is put a stop to this whole Celine Dion madness. Somebody has to take charge and it might as well be me. No thanks necessary, it'll be my pleasure.

COMMUTE - there - 35 minutes      back - 45 minutes
CONTRACT COUNTDOWN: 40 days

Worthless And Weak

I've been 'between assignments' for a while now, five months, and while I am getting some good work done - fourth draft of one novel, outline for another - I am developing some bad habits.
   I make time for 'The Price Is Right.' Daytime TV is indeed a vast wasteland, vaster than prime time for sure, yet if I'm in my apartment at 10 AM on a weekday I'm watching Drew Carey give away cars and vacations. Call it a habit decades in the making, I used to watch Bob Barker during summer vacation. It's my grandmother's fault.
   I drink waaaay more soda than I should. It's a habit I won't break for some reason. It really is just as simple as not buying it any more, but just as some people smoke when they drink, when I buy Lotto tickets in the convenience store I also get a soda. I'm a prisoner of my addiction, I need a government grant to get the aspartame monkey off my back.
   I go to the same online job boards day after day. This far into unemployment, if these job boards haven't landed me a paying gig by now they're probably not going to. And yet I go back again and again, thinking things will be different this time.
   YouTube. Farting dinosaurs. 'Nuff said.
   I don't shave every day, or even regularly. I'm one of those guys with perpetual five o'clock shadow. You know the kind, you see them in a store and you wonder what kind of job they have that they don't need to shave. Inside tip: they probably don't have a job.
   Mid-day grocery store visits. This far into my vagrancy, I know that most grocery stores are finished stocking by about 9:30 AM, and most old people don't get there until about 11 AM. So I swoop in during the sweet spot between stockers and seniors, when the aisles are blissfully free of obstructions.
   I play Mafia Wars on Facebook far, far, far too much. It's not even a particularly good game, but it's just good enough to keep me coming back.
   Glee. I can't help it, I like the show, and I have this odd fascination with Sue Sylvester. It's nothing I want to explore further, not in a public forum.

I really need a job.

Things That Worry Me Which Probably Shouldn't

Sometimes I worry about getting tattooed in my sleep.
   I'm not talking about in my own home in my own bed. I'm concerned that if I fall asleep somewhere public yet secluded that rogue tattoo artists will chloroform me and then ink me up. You know, like if I fall asleep in the back row of a movie theater, or maybe on the LA Metro late at night. I'm sure there are itinerant tattoo guys just waiting for their chance.
   The best I could hope for is some kind of tramp stamp. Which would be kind of lost on me because I rarely bare my midriff, a fact for which many people are thankful. The worst would be some kind of Yakuza full-body tattoo. Which would take quite a bit of time, since I'm bigger than your average Japanese mobster. At least that's what people tell me.